The One With The Transporter
by Jana
Summary: VERY loosely based on commercials I've seen for the movie 'The Transporter' - Chandler takes a job that changes his life.
1. Default Chapter

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter One

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--He needed money, and fast. The bills were piling up, all of them in threatening 'final notice red' print, warning him to pay ASAP. His landlord gave him a one-week extension, with the stipulation that the rent would be paid in full by the seventh day. He was running out of options.

When his friend, Joey offered him the quick, easy job, the amount of money attached set off several alarms in his head, but he pushed all doubts aside. He needed the money.

"Chandler, would you relax! It's a quick way to make some cash," Joey promised. "Two days up, two days back."

"Yeah," Chandler agreed with a scowl, "But is it legal?"

Joey gave his friend a sideways glance, "For the amount of money we're talking about, does it matter?"

"It matters," Chandler insisted weakly. "I don't need a prison record following me."

"Don't worry," Joey worked to assure him. "It'll be in your possession for only a couple days! Even if it **is** illegal--"

"So," Chandler cut him off, "It **could** be something illegal!"

"Look," Joey soothed, his arm around him, "Just drive the car from point A to point B, and don't even give it thought, ok? Then upon delivery, you'll get a fat wad of money, and that'll be it."

Chandler nodded, basically feeling trapped. "Alright."

He wasn't at all happy with the conditions of the job, but he was just too desperate to pass it up, and it **was** a lot of money. Enough to pay his past due bills, his currently due bills, plus have extra left over.

"Just show up here," Joey said, handing over a slip of paper with the information on it. "And here are the keys to the car. Instructions are in the glove box from there."

"Right," Chandler replied distractedly as he read the note silently.

"And whatever you do," Joey added seriously, softly. "**Don't** open the package."

"See," Chandler retorted, "That's where it sounds illegal to me."

"They're just protective of their property," Joey explained.

"And just **who** is **they**?"

"They're protective over their identities, too," Joey replied. "Just follow the directions to the letter and there will be no problems."

"Ok," Chandler agreed to the suspicious terms. "Thanks for getting me the job."

"Hey," Joey smiled, patting him on the back. "What are friends for?"

*****~*****

--The note was brief, but one part caught Chandler's attention as odd. The note insisted that he read the instructions in the glove box of the car **before** **anything else**.

Everything was exactly as it said it would be. The car was in the exact parking garage, in the exact parking **spot** as the note said it would be.

"A Cadillac," he murmured, smiling as he approached it. Never in a million years would he be rich enough to afford a beautiful car such as this. "Even if only for a few days," he told himself, pleased at the chance to drive the luxury vehicle.

He keyed into the passenger side and immediately retrieved the instructions from the glove compartment. That note was as cryptic as the first, maybe even more so. The directions were simple enough, and the envelope included money for gas, food, and lodging while on the trip, but the absolute secrecy they insisted on with regards to the package, which was apparently in the trunk, made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Whatever he was transporting, it was either illegal, or of the utmost importance to the people he was delivering it to. Or both.

His brow furrowed at the situation as he threw his duffel bag in the back seat, then easily slid into the driver's seat. After a quick adjusting of the mirrors and seat, he was off, on an adventure he was sure would be far from unproblematic. He just had a feeling.

*****

--Hours stretched on as he traveled down the scenic, semi-deserted road, the radio softly playing 80's music. When a song came on that he knew well, he would sing along, otherwise, he would sit silent, deep in thought.

The more he thought about it, the more paranoid he became. He was certain, after lamenting for hours, that the package was something bad. Something he was likely going to get in trouble for transporting. He wondered if Joey knew what it was. He wondered, would his friend had gotten him involved in something he **knew** to be illegal? How well did he know Joey?

--The diner was a greasy spoon, in every sense of the word, but after the hours he had spent driving, he hardly cared. It had food, and it was brown, hot, and there was lots of it, and that was all that mattered.

He originally just stopped to get gas, but when he saw there was a diner attached, his growling stomach dictated he stay and eat. The food tasted ok, though he was sure it would affect him negatively later, but as soon as he was finished, he dropped the amount of the check plus tip on the table and left. His mind wouldn't stop conjuring up all sorts of possibilities for what was in the trunk, like money, or drugs. A bomb? An endangered animal?

__

Like that dragon in that one movie, he thought as he headed for the car._ What was it called? 'The Freshman'?_

He shook his head as he kicked at a few pebbles, the car barely a few feet away. Upon hearing a noise, he stopped abruptly, quickly looking around to see if anyone was near enough to him that could be responsible for it, but no one was.

Thinking it strange, the noise itself seeming unusual, he walked around the car, trying to determine what it was and where it could have come from. After finding nothing to explain it, he decided that it was probably a stray pebble he had kicked, hitting the car or something.

Sliding into the driver's seat, his mind was filled with doubts. Sure, it **could have** been a pebble hitting the car, but that wasn't what it sounded like. It sounded like…

He shook his head as the thought hit him. It wasn't that. It couldn't be that.

A nervous uneasy breath followed him out of the car, and he walked shakily to the trunk of the vehicle, scowling as he leaned in and put his ear to the cold metal. He listened for more than a minute, but he could hear nothing at all. No sounds of any kind.

Relieved, he headed back for the driver's side door.

Taking his place once again behind the wheel, he criticized himself, _Stupid overactive imagination._

He turned over the car and peeled out of the parking lot, irritated with himself for getting worked up over nothing.

*****

--It started to drizzle as the sun began to set, but that didn't bother Chandler any. Rain never did. As others would scatter for shelter, he would usually continue about his day, walking casually as if rain wasn't coming down at all. It was just water, after all.

After turning the windshield wipers on to a steady slow pace, he cranked up the radio, both to compensate for the added noise **and** because it was a song he liked.

He was singing along, relaxing a little for the first time since the start of the trip, when he heard a noise that caught his attention. He quickly turned off the music and listened intently for the sound to repeat, but instead of a similar noise occurring, the back left tire blew, causing Chandler to swerve a bit and skid.

Finally getting the car under control, slowed down, and to the side of the road, he muttered a few obscenities before getting out to see what the damage was.

It was just a flat tire, and although inconvenient and time consuming, it was nothing Chandler couldn't handle. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and headed back for the trunk when he realized, getting the jack and the spare meant he would be seeing the package.

Chandler stared at the trunk for several minutes, wondering what he should do. He couldn't just stay there at the side of the road and do nothing, but if he opened the trunk and saw 'the package', what kind of trouble would he make for himself then?

"I should ask Joey," he mumbled, then grabbed his cell phone from inside the car. He dialed the number from memory, then waited for him to answer. After a dozen rings, it became obvious that he wasn't going to.

Chandler sighed heavily and clicked off the phone. "I can't stay here all night. I'll just, avert my eyes of something," he reasoned. "They'll understand," he further tried to convince himself. "After all, they want their package delivered on time. I can't do that sitting here on the side of the road."

Slowly, nervously, he pushed the key into the trunk lock and turned it. It clicked, jerking upwards to open. The light flickered on, and Chandler gasped as 'the package' came into view.

He stumbled backwards a step or two, his lips curved down into an expression of horror as he continued to stare.

Swallowing hard, he muttered the only words that came to his mind, "Oh, my, God."

****

TBC…

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	2. 2

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter Two

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Chandler stared in horror, muttering the only words that came to mind, "Oh, my, God."

She looked just as horrified, probably moreso, her mouth covered in duct tape, her arms and legs bound with rope, her eyes wide as saucers.

He stood as if cemented in place, feeling as if he couldn't move, unsure of what to do at first. His mind had given thought to so many possibilities as to what 'the package' was, but never did he think it was a living person. The package being a dead body flitted through his brain briefly at one point, but never someone alive, bound and gagged.

But, no, that wasn't true. He **had** considered the possibility. At the diner, when he'd heard the noise he couldn't explain. Why didn't he look then to be sure? Because it was just too unimaginable. The estimated time of the trip was just under 48 hours, how was she supposed to stay alive all that time? Maybe that was the point. Maybe she wasn't.

Snapping out of his shock, he slowly approached the frightened woman, and her eyes grew even wider with fear.

"I'm- I'm just going to, untie you," he stuttered, reaching slowly for the ropes. "I'm not the one that did this to you, ok?" he offered, hoping it would help alleviate her fears, although he couldn't imagine why it would.

He worked at the knots for several minutes, struggling to get them undone. They were tied tight, and with her position in the trunk and the poor lighting, it was no easy task. Finally, her arms were loose, and she grabbed at the tape on her mouth, pulling it off quickly, like one would a band-aid. She whimpered at the discomfort it caused, then rubbed at her wrists as she watched the man fight and tug at the bindings around her legs.

"Almost done," he promised her, his fingers sore from the cold and strain.

Finally, she was free, and once he helped her out of the trunk, as soon as her feet hit solid ground, she was off running.

"Lady! Wait!" he shouted, cursing under his breath as he began to run after her. "Wait! It's not safe for you to be out here!"

She didn't even slow down. With as much force as she could muster, she continued to run, panting and gasping with exerted energy and fear.

"Lady! Ugh! I'm not going to hurt you!" he called to her, gaining on her fast.

Once within reach, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm, stopping her from running, but she responded by screaming and flailing, hitting him in an attempt to get away. After taking several blows, he grabbed both her wrists, stopping her from attacking further. She was too weak to resist for long.

Her knees buckled as she burst into tears, and he slowly helped her to touch the ground, then released her, dropping to his knees beside her.

"I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through," he nearly whispered, "But I'm not the one responsible for it, ok? And I promise you," he added, uncertain if his words were even reaching her in her terrified state, "I won't hurt you."

She didn't respond with words. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, her face wet, her complexion splotchy from crying; the fear looking back at him was unmistakable. It was then that he noticed, she was shivering. 

She was hardly dressed for the colder weather of evening, he realized, wearing only a short sleeved blouse, thin cotton pants, and nylons with open-toed sandals on her feet.

"Here," he offered, slipping out of his jacket, "You're cold. Take my coat." He draped his jacket over her shoulders, and she recoiled slightly from his kindness. He sighed, nodding in understanding over her reaction. "Do you know who did this to you?" he asked softly. "Do you know why?"

No response. She either didn't know, he reasoned, or didn't trust him enough to tell.

"See, here's the thing," he told her, standing from off his knees. "I don't exactly know what I'm supposed to do now. I mean, at first, logically, you would think to call the police, right?" he asked rhetorically as he began to pace. "But, if I call the police, will they think I had something to do with this and throw me in jail? Really not keen on that idea," he added, half-sarcastically. "And if I **do** call the police, are the people responsible for this going to be pissed that I didn't deliver their 'package' and send someone after me to kill me? **Really** don't want to be dead! Even **more** than I **don't** want to be in jail."

He ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration showing. "It's not like I can just keep going. Deliver you. Not that I **would**," he assured her, continuing to babble. "I just have no idea what my choices even **are** at this point." He stopped pacing abruptly, an idea coming to him. "Can you hand me my cell phone?" he asked of her, pointing at his jacket. "It's in the right pocket."

She hesitated before reaching in to retrieve the phone, extending it towards him, and he kept at a slight distance when he reached for it, feeling she would want it that way. Leaning forward, he carefully took the phone from her, dialing the number from memory.

"Thanks," he muttered, waiting for the familiar voice of his friend to answer.

"Hello?"

"Joey!" Chandler nearly shouted. "Shit, man, did you know?!"

"Know what?" Joey asked, confused.

"The package," Chandler clarified. "Did you know what the package was?!"

"No," he replied calmly, "Why?" Suddenly, he gasped, "You didn't open it, did you?"

Chandler exhaled sharply, "Man, this is a **nightmare**! What kind of **people** are you **related** to?!"

"Dude," Joey asked pointedly, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Chandler's eyes grew wide as he looked over at the woman who was on her knees, hugging herself, and a thought occurred to him. "You could be in on it," he whispered into the phone.

"In on what?!" Joey asked fervently. "**What** are you **talking** about?! What's going on?"

Chandler hit the 'off' button, disconnecting the call. He didn't want to believe Joey could be in on something so devious, so criminal, but truth of the matter was, he **could** be. It was a risk Chandler was unwilling to take.

He paced for a minute or two, half-aware that she was watching him. He guessed she was looking to him for assurances, but how could he offer her any when he himself had no idea what lie in store for them? If Joey **was** in on the kidnapping, he would surely call someone to let them know that something had gone wrong. Someone would come looking for them. It wasn't safe for them to stay where they were. He needed to fix the flat, and get them off the route they were on. The route he was instructed to take would be the first place they'd look.

"We have to get out of here," he told her. "I don't know what's going on exactly, and I'm not at all sure of what to do at this point, but I know if we sit here like… sitting ducks, we could very easily be looking at a very short life span." He offered her his hand, so to help her off the ground, but her stare remained locked on the road in front of her.

"You don't know if you can trust me, I get that, but, I don't have the time to convince you that you can. Whoever did this to you is gonna know," he looked at his watch, "In about 2 minutes, that you are no longer on the way. If we don't get our asses off this road and **soon**, we're gonna be dead! And it's gonna take me at least 30 minutes to fix the flat. Ok? So, can you be frightened over there now?" he asked, pointing towards the car in the distance.

He could hear a little sob escape her in the silence of the moment, and he inwardly cursed himself for being so crass.

"Ok, I'm a prick, and I'm sorry. I understand that you're afraid. I really do, but right now, I am too."

She remained perfectly still and perfectly silent.

"Ok," he sighed, kneeling next to her, "Let's try this. My name is Chandler, and I'm an only child. My mom is a romance novelist, my dad does gay burlesque in Vegas. I work as a data processor for a large multi-national corporation, which I hate, but would **gladly** do till the day I die, provided that day isn't **today**! Now," he added as he stood again, "I'm gonna go fix the flat tire and try to find a way to stay alive. If you would like to join me, you know where I'll be for the next 30 minutes. After that, you're on your own!"

As he started to walk away, his cell phone began to ring, causing him to stop dead in his tracks…

****

TBC…

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	3. 3

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter Three

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--A cell phone ringing in and of itself wasn't such a big deal, except Chandler knew it was either Joey, or a member of Joey's family, and talking to them could mean trouble.

"Can a cell phone be traced?" Chandler asked the woman, turning to face her. She shrugged, the first direct response she'd given him since he had untied her. He took that as a good sign.

"Me neither," he replied, then pushed the power button, turning the phone off completely.

The sound of ringing ceased instantly, the call dropping from the air, and Chandler sighed as he slipped it into the pocket of his khaki pants. "Coming?"

After he had taken several steps, he started to hear her footsteps following him. Glancing behind, he acknowledged her presence, but then continued on his path to the car.

"Do you know how long you've been in there?" he asked hesitantly, calling back to her. "The- the trunk, I mean," he added. No answer. "Are you hungry?" he turned to ask her. "Thirsty?"

Slowing her pace when he did, she said nothing in return.

He stopped completely, then spun around to face her. "Do you speak English?"

She nodded.

"Ok," he muttered, walking again. "Was starting to wonder." A moment later he asked, "What's your name?"

Silence.

"That's fine," he told her. "You don't have to tell me. I'll just call you 'lady' or something," he added, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. He reached the car seconds later.

--Chandler immediately went to work on fixing the flat tire, grabbing the jack and all necessary tools from the trunk.

"Here," he requested, handing her a flashlight. "Can you hold this for me?"

She took it from him slowly, staring at him for several seconds before pointing it at the tire, and a vision of her bashing him over the head and running off twitched in his brain, causing him concern.

"I'm sure escape is probably highest on your list of things to do right now, but I promise you, I'm not the one you need to be escaping from. Can I trust you to **not** conk me over the head with that and run away?" he asked, pointing at the flashlight.

She only nodded, so he nodded in return.

"Good enough."

Turning back to the flat once again, he set the jack in place and began to raise the car.

He worked at the lug-nuts once the wheel was off the ground, removing them and placing them in the hubcap. When the light from the flashlight left the wheel, slowly moving off target, he paused, expecting to be hit and knocked out at any moment. Instead, the light moved right back to where it had been, and he inwardly sighed with relief.

They continued in complete silence, her unsure if she could trust him, he unsure of what to say next. He'd already tried several times to talk to her, but she refused to respond. It was frustrating, but he could hardly blame her for her mistrust. After all, she had been bound, gagged, and thrown into a trunk for God knows how long, the first person she sees being him. Her reaction was understandable.

After he tightened up the nuts and put the hubcap back on, he lowered the car, then threw the jack and tools back in the trunk. He held out his hand, gesturing for her to give him back the flashlight, but she seemed hesitant to do so.

"Thinking you'll be safer with a weapon?" he asked, dropping the request and his hand. After slamming the trunk closed he muttered, "I understand," then gestured towards the passenger side of the car. "Your door is unlocked," he informed, then headed for the driver's side.

She hesitated before opening the door and sliding in, and he waited for her before getting in himself.

"I have some chips, and a soda," he offered, "If you're hungry or thirsty." He reached behind him into his duffel bag and retrieved the suggested items, handing them to her.

She took them eagerly, ripping into the bag, juggling the can of lemon-lime drink as she struggled to eat and pop the can open at the same time. He didn't dare try to help her, envisioning her growling and snarling like a wild animal when feeling threatened.

"If you want something more, we can stop in a little bit and grab something," he told her as he started the car, "But right now, I just want to get as far away from this route as possible."

***

--Neither spoke as he drove, veering off the route as soon as the first highway junction presented itself. After nearly a half-hour had passed, he noticed the woman sitting beside him moving and fidgeting in an odd manner.

"You hafta go to the bathroom or something?" he asked, it meant more as a sarcastic joke than anything else, but then she started nodding emphatically.

He forced himself not to laugh, or even smile, feeling guilty for finding it humorous that his joke about why she was doing a little jig in her seat happened to be correct.

"I think I saw a sign about 2 miles back that said there was a gas station up ahead 4 miles. So, if you can hold it another few minutes…"

She nodded again, with less intensity, and he acknowledged her response by nodding in return.

"You know," he tried again to get her to talk to him, "You're already pretty much communicating with me, with all your little head nods and such. Is it **that** big a deal to talk to me?"

She turned and looked out her window, silent.

"Ok," he apologized. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk to me, you don't have to."

Within a few moments, the gas station came into view.

"There ya go," he told her, nodding towards it. "Your salvation."

He saw the hint of a glare from her when he glanced her way, but she turned away so quickly, he couldn't be absolutely sure that was what he'd seen.

--He pulled into the gas station parking lot, and as soon as the car came to a stop, she was off and running towards the bathroom.

"I'm gonna go too," he called to her. "I'll meet you back here!"

She waved as she disappeared into the bathroom marked 'ladies'.

--The bathroom was rank and dank and he considered holding it till he could find a better option further down the road, but not knowing when that would be, he decided to take his chances. Once finished, he washed his hands best he could, considering there was no soap of any kind, then dried his hands on his pants, since there was also no paper products in any form.

"Someone needs to burn that room and start over," he mumbled to himself as he left, immediately looking towards the car for the woman forced into his care. When he didn't see her, he started to become concerned.

Had she run off? Was she still in the bathroom? His fears were laid to rest somewhat quickly as he spotted her in the mini-mart, at the counter, purchasing a multitude of snack items. 

He stepped in quietly, undetected, watching as she paid the obviously bored cashier for her food and drink.

"Thank you," she said as she accepted her change, and Chandler raised an eyebrow.

Even after all she had been through, she still managed to be polite. That said something to Chandler about her character.

"Sure," he told her discreetly once beside her, "You talk to **him**."

The cashier chuckled. "Missus problems, eh?"

Chandler smiled, allowing the man on the other side of the counter to believe what he wanted to, and the woman exhaled sharply, obviously irritated as she snatched her bag off the counter and stormed out of the building.

Chandler shrugged, offering a strained smile, then followed her out the door.

--They had been driving for several minutes before he offered her an apology.

"I'm sorry about back there," he told her sincerely. "It's just, I've been trying really hard to be understanding about all this, and I don't think you really realize, that this is hard for me too! With you refusing to talk to me, it just makes it that much harder! And I guess I just figured that you were too upset to talk, but then I hear you talking to Mr. Boredom…" He trailed off, then sighed. "Sorry, I don't know what is considered proper etiquette for a situation like this."

She seemed to be listening to him, but still she said nothing. She just sat quietly, eating her newly purchased junk food.

"Hey, um," he stammered. "I shared my chips with **you**, could I maybe have a few of those gummi bears?"

Without pause she nodded, then opened the bag and handed it to him.

"Thanks." 

It was several minutes later, after the gummi bears had been consumed before he spoke again.

"You know, I'm not exactly sure what all is going on, and I'm sure you don't know much either, but if we work together, tell each other what we know, maybe we can find a way to fix this dilemma we now find ourselves in and **not** be killed."

No response.

"Fine," he said with a gesture of his hands that indicated his frustration. "Whenever you're ready," he added, then fell silent for several seconds. "If I at least knew your name," he cited. "At least **that** would be **something**."

Several silent minutes passed before two softly spoken words cut through the absolute quiet.

"I'm Monica."

****

TBC…

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	4. 4

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter four

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--She finally spoke, her meek voice cutting through the silence like a sharp knife cutting through skin, and just as surprising.

"I'm Monica."

To hear her voice was unexpected, and he glanced at her with raised eyebrows before turning his attention just as quickly back to the road before him. "I'm Chandler."

"I know," she told him. He had introduced himself before, along with a rambling brief history on his family and life. She knew more about him than some of her co-workers.

A slight smile and nod was his only response, waiting for her to make the next move. If she wanted to open a line of communication with him, she would venture further. If she didn't, her introduction would be the end of their conversation.

"It's an unusual name," she muttered, struggling to find a comfortable voice to speak with. She wanted to continue.

"I had unusual parents," he replied. Having heard similar comments for most of his life, his answer was second nature. "So," he changed the subject carefully, "What made you decide to trust me all of the sudden?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she answered honestly.

"Well, I'm glad you did. Decide to trust me," he added. "I think it'll help if we talk with each other. You know, talk through this, to figure out what to do. And up till now, I've pretty much just been talking to myself."

"Sorry," she apologized.

"No apology necessary," he assured her. "I was the one being a jerk, you were just scared."

She nodded, feeling awkward, unsure of how to respond to him. "Ok, so," she suggested, "Why don't you tell me your story, then- then I'll tell you mine."

"You mean, of how we got here?" he asked to confirm.

"Yeah."

"Well, I needed money. Bills were stacking up, landlord threatening to evict; I got desperate. I was telling a friend about my situation, and a few days later, he got me this job. The only thing I was told was to drive this car from point A to point B, with no questions asked. And the note said I couldn't open 'the package' or look in the trunk."

"The package?" she scowled. "Note?"

"**You**, were the package. The note's in there," he said as he pointed just below the passenger side dash, at the glove compartment, "If you wanna read it."

Pushing the release button, the compartment door popped open with a thud. Monica pulled the paper out and began to read, silently.

"It didn't strike you as odd?" she asked after reading the brief written instructions. "Or that it might be illegal?"

"It did," he admitted, "But I really needed the money. Joey kinda convinced me to just block it out of my mind and do the job, even with my reservations."

"Joey?" The name wasn't familiar, though why it would be, she didn't know.

He answered, "The friend who got me the job."

"Some friend," she quipped sarcastically. "Why didn't **he** take the job?"

"Had auditions all week."

"Auditions?" she asked. "He's like, an actor?"

"Yeah, **like** one," he answered with a short chuckle. "He's not very successful at it though."

"Ok," she veered back to the subject. "Who were you working for?" she asked. "With **this** I mean."

"I don't really know for sure," he told her truthfully. "I think it's a relative of Joey's, but they really didn't want their identities known."

"Now, see," she scoffed, "That's where it sounds illegal to me."

"I know," he replied, his tone self-critical. "I shoulda turned down the job as soon as the bells and whistles started going off in my head."

"I'm glad you didn't." Her voice was soft and sincere.

"You are?" he questioned, his expression showing curiosity.

"A less decent man," she explained her statement, "Might have left me locked up in the trunk, and delivered me anyway."

"I suppose," he hesitantly agreed. "Tell me your story now?" he asked after several moments.

Sighing, she gathered her thoughts. "I had just left work," she began, "And I was walking towards my apartment when someone grabbed me from behind. I tried to scream, but he put his hand over my mouth. I think he had a rag with something on it, cause next thing I know, I'm waking up in a room with nothing in it but me."

"At first," she continued, "I was real dizzy and groggy, from whatever they had drugged me with, so when this guy comes in, wearing a mask, I didn't have the strength to fight him. Or try to escape. He told me to go to the bathroom. He said I had a long road trip ahead of me. I was hoping to find a window I could climb out of or something, but there was nothing. When I got out of the bathroom, he grabbed me and drugged me again. I came to while in the trunk."

He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for the nightmare she had endured, or something, but he didn't know what to say. An apology seemed like such a weak gesture, after everything she had been through. So, instead of responding directly to her hellish tale, he decided to move on.

He cleared his throat. "You didn't catch any names? Or what anyone looked like?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Can you think of any reason why someone would do this?"

"No."

"You haven't, discovered some secret formula that will either kill or cure the world by any chance," he half-joked, "Have you?"

She snorted, "This isn't some cartoon or comic book."

"Feels like it is," he returned. "Rich parents? Jealous boyfriend?"

"My parents aren't wealthy, and I don't have a boyfriend."

"Witness a crime?" he pressed further.

Again, she shook her head, "If I did, I didn't realize."

"This makes no sense," he fussed. "There has to be a reason why someone would do this."

Failing to see the significance, she asked, "Does it really matter **why**?"

"Yeah," he insisted. "It could mean the difference between life and death."

Her brow creased at such a grave remark. "How so?"

"Well, like, if this is, say, a mob-type situation, even if we go to the police, and eventually go home and back to our lives, they will come after us and kill us! Because we know too much, or just simply because of the principal of the thing!"

"Someone has watched a few too many Godfather movies," she discarded the extreme viewpoint, for sanity's sake. It was too much to believe. It was all too much to believe.

"I wouldn't be so fast to dismiss this," he told her in all seriousness. "I know I for one don't want to end up at the bottom of the East River with cement shoes."

"Why on earth would the mob want me?" she begged an answer. "And what's more, why would they want **you** to transport me?"

"Well, maybe they hired me cause they didn't want any sort of connections back to them. I'm expendable," he added. "And, as for you, I don't know. Where do you work? Maybe it has to do with your job."

"I am a chef at Alessandros."

"Italian restaurant?" he asked, her answer feeding his suspicions. "It could be a front for mob activity! You might have inadvertently seen something, and now they have to get rid of you!"

His paranoia was infectious, and her mind strained to remember anything out of the ordinary at work in the days preceding her kidnapping.

"Come to think of it," she recalled, "The guy in the mask **did** have an Italian accent."

"Not to freak you out," he prefaced his bad news, "But I think we're in real trouble here."

She took in his words, the fear in his voice proof he believed what he was saying, and she placed her shaky hand to her mouth, her fingers tapping against her pursed lips nervously.

"Ok," she said through parted fingers. "Tell me what **you're** thinking happened."

"I think, you probably saw something at work, whether you're aware of it or not. I'm guessing, they think you know something, and therefore have to 'get rid of you'. They were probably expecting you to die in the trunk during the two-day road trip, or in the hours or days following me parking the car at point B. I think they were planning on letting me take the fall for it. My fingerprints would be all over the car when the police find your body in the trunk. When in jail, awaiting trial, I just happen to get 'accidentally' killed by a fellow inmate or something."

"Oh, God," she whispered, panic choking her voice away. "You really think that's possible?"

He nodded. "I think it's one of the possibilities, yes."

"So, what do we do now?" she asked worriedly.

"I have no idea," he answered distractedly, his mind trying to conclude that very question. "I have no idea."

****

TBC…

Please leave a review!


	5. 5

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter five

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Chandler strained to keep his eyes open, the long monotonous drive beginning to take its toll. The car with its slight vibration and rocking motion, the road with its broken centerline whizzing towards him in an almost rhythmic pattern, it was all serving to lull him to sleep. His hazy brain finally decided that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he would end up crashing the car for sure, killing them both.

He glanced over at Monica, noticing her eyelids were just as droopy.

"Maybe we should pull over and get some sleep?" he asked, and her eyes widened at the sound of his voice.

"Yeah," she agreed drowsily. "Good idea."

"As soon as I see a turnout or rest area," he mumbled, "I'll pull over."

"Or," she countered, "Couldn't we just stop at a motel or something?"

"Well, yeah, we **could**," he validated her suggestion. "But, here's the thing. I don't really have any money. They gave me some, figuring I would need a little for the trip, I guess, but it isn't much."

"Well, I have **some**," she informed. "Some cash, a little on my credit card I think, and I have some in savings."

"But," he asked, confused, "Don't **they** have your purse?"

"No, actually, I didn't have my purse with me when they kidnapped me. When I'm at work," she explained, "I just take a wallet with me. Don't need to be babysitting a purse while I'm trying to cook."

"Makes sense."

"I think so." She pulled out her wallet and thumbed through it. "I have my ATM card, a credit card, and a few dollars cash. They didn't check my pockets for some reason." She tapped it against her palm before slipping it back into her pocket.

"Not very bright, your abductors," Chandler half-quipped, "Are they?"

She gestured in agreement. "Apparently not."

***

--The first motel to present itself wasn't a very good one, as was apparent by its obviously poor maintenance, but as long as it had beds, they mutually decided, they were stopping for the night.

Immediately upon entering their room, Monica headed for the bathroom, muttering something about wanting to take a shower. After being behind the closed door for a mere minute or two, Chandler heard the bath water running.

Utterly exhausted, he kicked off his shoes and dropped onto one of the double-sized beds, not even bothering to climb under the covers. He was vaguely aware of the water being turned off near-about 30 minutes later, the noisy pipes ceasing their racket, but he was too tired to care, until Monica poked her head out the bathroom door.

She only opened the door a crack, and just her head could be seen beneath the cloud of steam that began its escape from the tiled room.

"Chandler?"

"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes remaining closed.

"Would you mind if I was just in a towel?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes opened, squinting at her from his angle on the bed. "Um, ok."

"It's just," she awkwardly explained, "I wanted to rinse out my clothes. And now they're hanging on the shower rod-"

"But that leaves you with nothing to wear," he finished her sentence.

She chuckled, embarrassed. "Yeah."

He smiled, "Didn't think that far ahead before you did it, did'ja?"

"Not really," she sighed.

"Don't worry, I won't look," he assured her. "Much," he added with a smirk on his face.

"Typical guy," she scoffed, a similar grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she crossed the room to her bed.

"Hey, when a beautiful half-naked woman is in your room, you take notice!" he said with a laugh, pulling himself into a sitting position on his bed.

She shook her head as she climbed into bed, using the blankets as cover in place of the flimsy towel. "Do you think we'll ever get to go home?" she asked, suddenly melancholy.

"I hope so!" he replied, his tone sounding more sure than he actually was.

"I'm already starting to miss my friends. And my brother. Hell," she added, "I would even settle for seeing my parents!"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I know what you mean. I would even settle for seeing my co-workers!"

"You don't like the people you work with?" she asked incredulously. 

"Eh. They're office drones. I swear," he snorted, "Some of them are 2 dimensional."

"What is it you do again?" she asked. "Data entry?"

"Yeah," he mumbled apathetically. "Exciting, huh?"

"Well," she shrugged, "If it pays the rent."

"It doesn't really," he replied. "That's why I took **this** job."

She responded with a brief nod, "Right."

"It wasn't supposed to be a permanent position. I took it originally as temp work." He chuckled, "It's not like data entry is anyone's dream job."

"What happened to your dream job?" she asked him.

"Got lost along the way, I suppose."

"What did you want to be doing?"

"I wanted to be a writer," he admitted. "Once upon a time."

"A writer? Like, of books? Journalism?"

"Comedy writing, actually."

"Like, for sitcoms?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, sort of. What about you?" he asked, turning the question to her. "You working your dream job?"

"Yeah, actually. I've wanted to be a chef for as long as I can remember. Of course, that's probably because of my love of food as a kid. But I always dreamed of being a chef. And, now I am."

"You're lucky," he told her. "Not everyone has that."

"I know. I have a lot to be grateful for…" 

She left the sentence dangling, and he waited a moment for her to finish, only speaking up when he realized she wasn't going to.

"You trailed off," he pointed out. "I'm sensing there's more to that."

"It's just- **sure**, I have great friends, I love my brother, my job. I even love my parents, though they're a bit strange. But, aren't everyone's parents?"

"I know mine are," he interjected.

"It's just, something is missing."

"And that is?" he pressed.

"A husband. Kids."

"Ah," he smiled politely. "Those."

"And to hear my mom talk about it," she went on, "I'll never find anyone! I'm destined to die alone, an old spinster cook."

"That's crazy!" he contended. "Ok, granted, I don't know you very well, but what little I do know- You're bright, funny, beautiful. Who wouldn't want you?"

She smiled at the complement. "What about you? Surely **you're** dating someone."

He shook his head. "There was Janice. Dated her for several months, but she was in the middle of a divorce when we hooked up. She ended up going back to her husband."

"Wow, that's rough. How long has it been?"

He gave it thought, doing the math in his head. "Five, six months. I've had a lot of first dates since then, but, nothing serious."

"Are you looking for that? Something serious, I mean."

"Not actively looking," he replied, "Not at the moment. But, yeah, someday, I would like to find someone. Do the marriage and kids thing. Just not so sure it's in the cards for me."

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.

He laughed, avoiding the question. "If my dating record thus far is any indication."

He forced a yawn, which quickly turned into the real thing as the day caught up with him. She took the hint and dropped it. 

"Maybe we should try to get some sleep," she suggested, and he agreed with a nod.

With a quick tug of the chain, Chandler turned off the only light in the room, plunging them into darkness. All was quiet, the stillness of the room causing an odd pounding in his ear, and he cleared his throat just to have something break the deafening silence.

Minutes later, when he was almost asleep, just falling into that fuzzy state of altered consciousness, Monica's voice startled him back into reality.

"Chandler?"

His body jumped of its own volition. "Huh?"

"Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's ok," he muttered sleepily. "What'cha need?"

"I was wondering, if I could, maybe- I wanted to ask- Can I, sleep, in your, bed?" she stammered awkwardly. "I just- I just don't feel safe by myself," she quickly added, explaining her request.

"Well, ya'know, I'm right **here**," he reminded her, "If you need me."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm being silly."

"No, you're not," he sympathized. "You're just on edge. You can- You can sleep with me, if you think that it'll help."

"Thanks." She left her bed and started to climb into his bed, but then stopped, clutching the bath towel tighter around her chest. "You won't…?"

He chuckled. "I'm so tired, I couldn't if I wanted to," he assured her. "But believe me, I don't want to."

"I don't know whether I should be relieved or insulted," she muttered as she slipped under the covers, starting to settle in to his bed.

"It wasn't meant as an insult," he insisted. "I just meant that I have way too much respect for you to take advantage of you. Is all."

"Thank you," she near-whispered. "For everything."

"You're welcome," he smiled. "Night."

"Goodnight, Chandler."

****

TBC…

**Ok, I had about 98% of this chapter finished when my hard drive crashed and I lost all of it. I tried to draft it again from memory, but I don't think it is as good as my first draft. Still, I hope you all like it.

Please leave a review!


	6. 6

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter six

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--The movement of the bed woke her, the brightness of the room immediately making her squint. It was morning, though it felt like she had only been asleep 20-or-so minutes. She groaned as she sat up, pulling the sheet protectively up to her neck.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily, rubbing at her face.

Chandler, who was sitting on the end of the bed looked at his watch quickly, then returned to tying his shoes. "Just after seven."

"How long have you been up?"

"About an hour," he replied as he stood. "I didn't have the heart to wake you."

"And I thank you for that."

He watched as she climbed sluggishly out of the bed. "I have a plan," he told her. "Want to hear it?"

"Can I get dressed first?" she asked, stumbling towards the bathroom where her clothes were still presumably hanging on the shower rod, hopefully dry.

He gestured in the affirmative, a tiny grin briefly crossing his features. "If you must."

"So," she called out from the partially closed door, "Does this plan involve us getting closer to or further away from home?"

"Further away, unfortunately. But, I think it's necessary, if we don't want to die."

"Ok, so, what's the plan?"

"Well, first thing we gotta do is ditch the car," he stated with authority. "They know what it looks like, they know everything about it. It makes it easier for them to find us."

"Then, how would we get around?" she asked. "Where would we go from there?"

He paused before answering her. "How do you feel about Canada?"

She abruptly tugged at the bathroom door, opening it enough to look out at him. He averted his eyes as she stood in the doorway, in nothing more than pants and a bra. "Canada? What's in Canada?"

"We can disappear better if we leave the country. Besides," he added, "I know of a good place to hide out."

When she suddenly realized he was avoiding eye contact, and why, she jumped back and closed the door all but a little.

"We can hide out on the Mr. Beaumont," he replied, which created more of a question than answered one.

"The what? Who?"

"It's a boat, that belongs to Joey-"

"The same Joey that got you this job, Joey?" she interrupted.

"Yes, but," he quickly explained, "It's a toy he's lost interest in. He'll never go there. He'll never know we're on it. We'll hop on the boat, sail to Canada, hide out for a while. Figure out what to do. I think it's our best bet here."

She seemed hesitant about going along with his plan, and she waited till she was dressed and out of the bathroom before commenting. "I don't know if I like that idea."

He scowled as he tried to decipher her reaction. "You don't trust me, do you?"

"It's not that," she insisted. "I trust you. I slept with you last night, didn't I?"

He shrugged.

"I mean, let's get serious here," she continued. "You actually want us to jump on a boat and sail to Canada? And live on what money? The little we have can't last forever."

"I didn't say I had all the answers," he shot back. Her concerns were his as well. "I'm just trying to keep us from getting killed at the moment. We'll cross any other bridges when they present themselves."

Shaking her head, she mumbled, "I just don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Well, ya'know, if you got any better ideas, I'm all ears."

Her frown caused little wrinkles in her forehead, "Are you mad at me or something?"

"No," he denied, "Of course not."

"You are!" she pointed for emphasis. "You know, it's not like I **asked** for this!"

"And I **did**?!" he shouted. "I'm a victim in this too, ya'know!"

She raised her hands, calling a truce, "Ok, ok, this isn't getting us anywhere, alright?"

He exhaled sharply, then made a similar gesture. "You're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," she apologized as well. "And I'm sorry I'm dragging on the boat idea, it's just- it seems a little rash."

"I think we have to act rash," he admitted. "I think sometime very soon, we're going to have very bad people who want to do very bad things coming after us, if they're not already."

"Alright," she agreed reluctantly. "I trust your judgement." She sighed, yielding. "Let's go sailing."

***

--Monica said nothing as they continued down the highway, and the elongated silence was starting to wear on Chandler's nerves. He knew she didn't want to go on some boat, sail to some foreign country, but he didn't know what else to do. He blamed himself for that, for not knowing what to do, or how to get them out of their predicament. He felt that she blamed him too.

"Are you so angry with me that you can't even talk to me?" he asked, glancing at her profile as he kept one eye on the road.

"I'm not angry with you," she replied. "And I'm not giving you the silent treatment on purpose. I just- I don't know what to say."

He nodded once, then sighed, "I want to go home too, you know," he told her. "Believe me."

"I just keep thinking about how worried my friends and family must be right now," she said with a sigh. "My friend Rachel is probably crying, thinking the worst. My brother is probably consoling her, like he usually does when she's upset." She scoffed, smiling as she recalled, "She gets upset at the drop of a hat." Chandler smiled at the comment. "My dad is probably trying to be strong on the outside, mustn't appear weak, you know. My mom is probably blaming me for her missing her hair appointment or something."

"Sounds like you have a close-knit group of family and friends."

"Yeah, I do."

"I doubt anyone is even missing me," he admitted ruefully. "When I don't show up for work, they'll just write me off and hire a replacement. My folks don't even know I'm gone, and I doubt anyone has called to tell them. Joey could very well be in on all this, so **he's** probably worried about me, but for an entirely different reason. Then there's Phoebe. She'll probably start wondering about me at some point, when I don't show up at the coffeehouse after a while, but-"

"Phoebe?" Monica interrupted, a hint of jealousy to her tone.

"She's just a friend," he replied, instinctively defending himself. "She sings at the coffeehouse downstairs from our apartment. A little weird, but she's good people."

"So," she hinted carefully, "She's not a… girlfriend, or-?"

"Pheebs?" he laughed. "No, she's **so** not my type."

"What **is** your type?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Smart, funny, kind. Passionate, a good sense of humor…"

"And Phoebe isn't any of that?"

"No, she is, it's just- When you meet someone, you have to feel something, ya'know? Like, a connection or something. I've just never felt that with her. Or anyone," he admitted.

When she said nothing in response, he looked over at her, noticing that she was staring at him. He smiled with embarrassment, "You think I'm a sappy dork now, don't you?"

She shook her head, "No, of course I don't think that," she assured him.

"I don't know," he continued, "I think I have too much of my mother in me. I told you she was a romance novelist, right?"

"Yeah, you did."

"I guess I just inherited her romantic side."

"And her interest in writing," Monica added.

He nodded silently in agreement.

"I know none of this is your fault," she said softly. "And I'm sorry if I came off like I was upset with you, cause I'm not. I'm just upset at the situation."

"Fair enough," he accepted the apology. "I'm sorry I'm not better at this rescuing the damsel in distress stuff."

She laughed, "Well, this damsel happens to think you're doing a pretty good job so far."

He chuckled, appreciative. "Thanks."

***

--"If we leave the car parked too close to the marina, anyone looking for us will be able to put two and two together and figure out that we hopped on the Mr. Beaumont," Chandler explained as he wiped his and Monica's prints off every inch of the car. "It's a bit of a hike, to the boat," he panted as he exerted himself, "But it'll buy us time."

She nodded as she hugged herself, looking around at her surroundings and the people walking in the distance. "How far?"

"Two miles," he replied, joining her with his duffel bag strapped across his neck and shoulder. "Give or take."

"Ok." She waited for him to take the first step in the next portion of their adventure, then fell in line beside him. "How long do you think it'll take us?"

"To get to the boat?" he asked. "An hour or so, if we get a good pace going."

"The sooner the better," she muttered, picking up the pace and passing him. "I don't feel at all safe out in the open like this."

Silently, he agreed, taking a jog of about 4 steps to catch up to her.

--Each step she took was as graceful as it was long, and it was then that he realized how tall she was. She also seemed to be in excellent physical shape, the only sign of her exertion being a fine sheen of sweat on her brow and a slightly heavier sigh to her breathing.

He on the other hand was starting to feel the burn. In an effort not to appear weak, he kept the pace she set and struggled to keep up, shifting the bag strapped to him often, hoping she would assume the added cumbersome duffel was to blame for his slower stride.

"You work out?" he asked, panting.

"As often as I can," she replied. "You?"

"If you call eating pizza and playing foosball working out," he laughed.

She smiled, then offered, "I can carry your bag for you, if you want."

He had too much pride to accept. "No thanks," he declined. "I'm fine."

She shrugged, "Well, if you change your mind…" She left the offer hanging.

Moments later, she picked up the pace again, increasing it just slightly every few minutes. After about 20 minutes, he was at a near-run trying to keep up with her.

He swallowed his pride and asked, "Is your offer still open? To carry the duffel for a bit?"

She smiled inwardly, knowing she had won the little game she was playing with him. A game he knew nothing about. "Sure," she told him, reaching out for him to hand her the bag.

Oblivious to her gloating, he passed her the bag, their pace only slowing slightly as she flung it across her shoulder. She immediately picked up the pace once the strap was adjusted comfortably, and he exhaled sharply as he found himself still struggling to keep her pace.

"Isn't that heavy?" he spat out between breaths, swiping at the sweat dripping down from his forehead.

"Eh," she dismissed with a shrug, "Some say I'm freakishly strong."

"I guess so!" he exclaimed. "Gotta wonder how they were able to kidnap you in the first place."

She scowled, his remark upsetting her. He had no way of knowing that she silently berated herself for allowing the abduction to happen at all. Why wasn't she able to escape them when they first grabbed her? She had taken all those defense classes. She was certainly strong enough. What had happened?

"Well," she defended herself, "They drugged me for one."

He could tell by her tone that she was upset. "Sorry," he apologized. "That was a pretty callous thing to say."

She shook her head, "It's ok."

She said she forgave him, but he thought it best **not** to talk to her for a while. If he didn't say **anything**, he wouldn't say something stupid.

***

--"We should grab some stuff to eat," he suggested, spotting a mini-market up the street a few paces. "You know, provisions for while we're on the boat."

She acknowledged him with a nod.

"We should keep it simple though," he added. "And cheap."

"Right," she agreed. "How far are we from the boat?" she asked, slowing as they neared the store. "Don't want to be lugging more stuff for a half mile or more, ya'know? If there's another store closer-"

"No, actually, it's only another block or two." He pointed at the storefront, "This is probably our best bet."

"Alright then." She started for the entrance, but Chandler's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

When she turned around, he pointed at the duffel bag. "I can take that now."

A puzzled expression made way for comprehension, and she quickly ducked out of the strap, handing him the bag before turning again towards the store's entrance.

She literally jumped when she felt his hand on her shoulder again. The touch was simple, but complex, all at the same time, and the look she gave him confused him.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, then continued quickly, "Cause, ya'know, what I said before, I really am sorry."

"What?" Her furrowed brow showed she wasn't quite following him.

"Before?" he reminded, "When I said I wondered how they grabbed you in the first place. It was totally out of line," he apologized again. "And I'm really sorry if I upset you."

She smiled at the consideration her showed her, and her feelings. "It's fine Chandler, really."

"It's just, sometimes I say stuff before thinking. It's a fault of mine…"

"It's a fault of most men," she laughed, then gestured at the store. "Shall we?"

He smiled in return. "Yeah."

***

--Chandler could see the Mr. Beaumont in the distance, looking a bit neglected from weeks of being ignored. Joey rarely went to the marina anymore, to give his boat a cleaning, maintenance, or to even sail it, but Chandler was certain that despite that, the boat was sure to be in good working order.

He'd only been sailing a handful of times in his life. Twice with his parents, and a few times with Joey when he first won the Mr. Beaumont at the silent auction he'd attended **only** because there was an open bar. Always a quick study, he was sure he would remember how to sail once he got aboard. It would all come back to him, wouldn't it?

He climbed aboard behind Monica, dropping his duffel bag on the deck before heading back for the ladder. "I just have to untie the rope from the cleat," he told her. "I'll be right back."

He hopped off the ladder onto the dock, wiping his hands on his pants as he approached the end of the rope. He started to work the tie when Monica snuck up behind him, unintentionally scaring him.

"Need some help?"

He startled, jumping around to face her. "Ugh! You scared the shit out of me!"

She couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry."

He shook his head, "It's alright," he breathed, turning back to the boat's tie-down. "I've got it though."

"Ok."

She was just about to turn and head back to the ladder when a man approaching caught her eye. She nudged Chandler, gesturing in the man's direction when she had his attention.

Chandler instinctively stood between Monica and the burly man, adrenaline coursing through him at an alarming speed.

Seconds later, the man was within earshot, and he pointed at the two of them as he continued towards them. "I need to talk to you," he announced, the sound of his voice as menacing as his stature.

****

TBC…

Ok, this chapter is a bit longer, because a few have asked for them (the chapters) to be. Also, just let me say that this story **IS** going to surprise you. I know it seems to be going slow, but I promise you, things are about to get interesting. Please, stick it out, it's about to take an exciting turn.

And as always, please leave a review! Reviews fuel my creativity and when that happens, I update faster!


	7. 7

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter seven

By: Jana~

***

--Chandler felt his protective nature kick in, standing in front of Monica, ready to safeguard her against any harm the man approaching intended to cause. Fear for his own safety was secondary.

"We've been looking for you," the man informed, a thick Italian/Brooklyn accent wrapping around the ominous words.

"We don't want any trouble." Chandler forced his voice to sound stable and unafraid as he continued to shield Monica.

She peeked out from around him, scared not even close to describing what she was feeling.

"Then, Mr. Tribbiani, you need to clean up your boat!" the man barked. "It's been months since you've been here to clean it, and frankly, it's becoming an eyesore! We have all signed a petition, and unless you take action, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to vote you out of this marina!"

The guy thought he was Joey. Chandler rolled his eyes, relieved that it was a simple boat owner on a mission and not some hitman ready to snuff them out. "I apologize, sir, and trust me when I say, this matter will be dealt with."

The man went on to thrust the petition under Chandler's nose, but he put his hand up, refusing to view the document.

"I believe you, sir, that you have the signatures needed," Chandler humored the man, discreetly gesturing for Monica to board the boat. "But we're on a bit of a tight schedule at the moment, so this will have to be dealt with when I return."

He went back to untying the line from the cleat, all the while the man continued to list all the complaints about the appearance of the Mr. Beaumont. Finally, the boat was free, and so was Chandler to walk away from the man's ramblings.

"I'll be happy to review the list when I return," Chandler told him, tossing the rope over the side and into the boat. "Have a pleasant day."

He climbed the ladder, aware that the burly Italian/New Yorker was watching him; he guided Monica away from the side of the boat, and away from the man's line of vision.

"I though for sure-" she whispered, panic in her voice and eyes.

"I know," he interrupted, softly touching her shoulder in support as he moved past her. "Let's just get out of here."

He started up the motor and carefully pulled away from the dock. Luckily, he was able to maneuver the boat around the other boats and get it out into the bay without hitting anyone or anything.

"I'm better at this than I thought," he figuratively patted himself on the back, smiling at Monica. His smile soon dropped however, when he saw the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

She threw herself into his arms, her face against his chest. "I thought we were dead back there," she cried, her voice muffled as she spoke into his shirt.

"I know," he soothed, stroking her hair. "The thought crossed my mind too."

She pulled back, her tear-stained cheeks standing out as the cold ocean breeze stung and reddened her face. "You stood in front of me," she stated in awe. "To protect me."

He watched her expression closely, nodding only slightly.

"Thank you," she whispered, the look on her face a cross between pained and confused.

Again, he nodded. "You're welcome," he whispered back.

Instinct caused him to lean in, and neither blinked nor even dared to breathe until their lips were centimeters apart; they both inhaled sharply as their eyes fluttered shut, anticipating the kiss to come.

Lips brushed tentatively, hands roamed gently, time stood still. But almost as soon as it began, it was over.

Monica broke the kiss, her eyes wordlessly asking the question her voice couldn't at that moment. His eyes seemed to be studying her, and she gulped nervously, only able to stare back at the man holding her.

"What are we doing?" she finally asked, her voice meek and unsure.

His arms were still around her, continuing to hold her, carefully, as if she were a fine China doll that may break. "Something we probably shouldn't be," he replied, then released her. "I'm sorry if I-"

She shook her head, the response stopping him from finishing his apology. Her eyes dropped to the deck beneath her feet, "I think I need to rest for a bit." She wanted, **needed** to get as much distance between herself and Chandler that she could.

He agreed with a gesture, an attempt to make her feel better about her need to flee from what had just occurred. "Of course! Absolutely!"

Turning her back, she walked away from him and towards the furthest end of the boat, the end Chandler was farthest from. As much as she liked it, the kiss confused her, and she needed space, as much as the small boat would allow, to gain some perspective.

Chandler inwardly groaned, chastising himself for his actions. She was scared, and vulnerable, how could he do that to her? Especially after he told her he would never take advantage of her. But that's what he did, in his mind. He'd taken advantage of her.

It didn't matter if she returned the kiss, he reasoned, it was still a bad move. Still not right of him to place her in that position. And then there was the added concern of whether or not things would be awkward between them. They couldn't afford to have there be unresolved issues, not when things were so, dire.

He stole a glance in her direction, watching her carefully as she stared out at the ocean. She seemed so sad, and he wanted to apologize right then and there, but thought time and distance would be best for her, at least for a while.

With the wide-open sea before him, he cut the motor on the boat and began to set the sails, solo. It was slow coming back to him at first, but soon, he was sailing like a pro, and heading in the general direction of their destination.

Then he approached her, sitting beside her as her gaze remained on the ocean, the water reflecting images of the dark clouds above. It suited the mood, he thought ruefully. 

Monica was aware of Chandler's presence, but said nothing and acknowledged the same.

"You ok?" he asked, noticing her color was a little off. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," she lied, her voice giving away her discomfort.

"You're motion sick," her asked her, "Aren't you?" She only shrugged in response.

"Give me your hands." The order was a kind one, but she hesitated before complying. "If you apply firm but gentle pressure **here**," he explained, pressing his thumbs gently into the underside of her arms, just above her wrists, "It will help counter the nausea."

She stared down at his hands, her mind far from the motion sickness the boat was causing… until his little trick seemed to be actually working.

"Better?" he asked, observing that her greenish complexion was starting to fade.

"Yeah," she admitted, amazed. "Where did you learn that?"

"Phoebe." He released his grip, "She's into all that, holistic medicine and aromatherapy and stuff."

Monica nodded, her eyes returning to the bluish-gray water that surrounded them.

He sighed as he watched her emotionally distance herself, both of them falling into an uncomfortable silence. It was several minutes later before he noticed her shiver, goosebumps peppering her arms.

"You're cold," he realized, grabbing his duffel bag and rummaging through it. "I have something you can wear."

The cold wind had felt good when she was feeling ill, her discomfort causing heat flashes, but once the nausea had subsided, the biting wind began to chill her.

He pulled out a long-sleeved shirt, holding it up for her to slip into. She glanced at him briefly before accepting the warm article of clothing… it smelled like him, and she inhaled deeply as she hugged herself protectively. 

What she was protecting herself from, she didn't exactly know. From getting her heart broken, maybe? Chandler didn't really seem like the type to break hearts though. More likely, he was the one getting his heart broken.

"It's a pretty view," he said casually, looking out at the same piece of ocean that had her attention. "Too bad we couldn't be viewing it under better circumstances."

She turned away from the water and faced him. "Why are you so nice?"

He laughed at the question. "What?"

"I don't know what to make of you! Here you are, going through the same thing I'm going through, but instead of focusing on yourself-" She stumbled verbally, trying to find her words. "You seem to be going out of your way to make this as easy on **me** as possible! Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess- I just- I went into this willingly, ya'know? I knew something wasn't right, but I got involved anyway. **You**, you were brought into this against your will. And even though I'm not the person directly responsible for that, I am as close as we're going to get. Right now. Out here." He picked at imaginary lint on his pants, any task to take his eyes away from hers. "I just feel responsible for you now."

"And that's the only reason you're being nice to me?" she asked. "Because you feel responsible for me?"

He looked up at her, into her eyes; they seemed to show an inner pain that made him admit to something he might not have otherwise. 

"No," he told her. "That's not the only reason." He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, the brisk air causing a slight burn to his already dry throat. "I like you, Monica. And I know we've only known each other for one day, but, I like you. If I had met you at the coffeehouse, I would have asked you out by now. But with things the way they are--" 

He stopped abruptly, watching her for a reaction, but she only stared at him in response. 

"I'm being nice to you," he concluded, "Because I like you."

She remained silent for several moments, and he looked away as he anticipated her shooting him down. They hadn't known each other long at all, would it really be **that** devastating if she **did**? Somehow, he felt it would be.

"I like you, too, Chandler." Her voice was so quiet it almost couldn't be heard over the wind whipping past them.

"What?" he asked with a surprised yet hopeful expression.

"I like you, too," she repeated, her eyes avoiding his once again.

Delicately, he reached out, lifting her chin with his finger, his eyes begging to meet hers. When she finally looked up at him, he smiled.

"May I kiss you?"

She nodded, the movement so slight it could barely be seen, but Chandler saw it. He was hypersensitive to everything about her at that moment.

The kiss that followed was slow and sweet, and all together too brief.

"Chandler!"

Chandler pulled away abruptly at the sound of his name being called. Where was it coming from? Frantic, they both jumped from their seats, scanning the ocean around them in search of that answer.

"You heard it too, right?" he asked her, wondering briefly if it was all in his head.

"Yeah," she confirmed, "I heard it too. Where is it coming from?"

"I don't know, another boat maybe?"

"Chandler!"

There it was again. It definitely was not their imaginations, someone was calling to him.

"Who is doing that?" Monica asked, her voice thick with fear.

Chandler hesitated before responding. "It sounds like… Joey."

****

TBC…

Please leave a review!


	8. 8

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter eight

By: Jana~

*****

--"Joey?" Monica asked. "The same Joey that owns this boat, Joey? The same Joey **you** said would never come looking for his boat, Joey? The same Joey that-"

"Yes!" he interrupted her panicked ramblings. "**That** Joey!"

"But, how--?"

"I don't know," he replied, cutting her question short. Squinting, his focus seemed to be drawn to a boat in specific, one not very far away from them, the people on deck he could just barely make out.

"Oh my God," he whispered, almost to himself. "It **is** Joey!"

He pointed at the boat, showing Monica, and could then see Joey waving in the distance in response.

"Dude!" Joey yelled through the bullhorn, "Drop the sails, man!"

"Don't do it!" Monica nearly screamed, grabbing Chandler's shirt in desperation.

"How the hell-?" he asked rhetorically, confused. "How did he find us?"

"Make the boat go faster!" Monica ordered Chandler, terrified. For all she knew, this man was responsible for her being kidnapped. She didn't want to be face to face with him. "Please!" she begged.

"Monica!"

The voice came from the other boat, from the bullhorn, but it wasn't Joey's voice. It was…

"Ross?" Monica stopped dead in her tracks, looking towards the boat that was approaching rapidly. It sounded like him, and kind of looked like him, the little she could make him out in the distance.

"Monica, it's Ross! Drop the sails!"

She looked at Chandler, her face still wet from the tears that had fallen. "I don't understand."

"I'm gonna drop the sails," he decided, and she did nothing but stare emptily in response.

"What if it's a trap?" she asked. "What if Joey grabbed my brother too?! And he's forcing him to call to me at gunpoint!?"

He paused with what he was doing for a moment, then shook his head. "You don't know Joey like I do. Besides, Ross seems like a pretty big man. Big enough to fend off Joey at least."

She scoffed, "You don't know Ross like **I** do."

"Well, at any rate, your brother and my friend are on a boat, chasing us down. I don't know about you, but I'm curious to find out why."

"I don't want to die," she near-whispered, and he stopped what he was doing and wrapped his arms around her. She was shaking.

"I won't let that happen. I promise."

He finished dropping the sails, the other boat then catching up quickly. As it neared, the others on the boat could be identified. Phoebe was on the boat, as was Rachel, and the guy from the marina who was complaining about the condition of the Mr. Beaumont.

Chandler and Monica exchanged perplexed expressions as the boat pulled alongside, the 'marina guy' moving quickly to secure the two boats together.

Rachel was the first to jump across, followed closely by the others; Ross and Rachel wrapped Monica in a hug as Phoebe and Joey embraced Chandler.

"God, Monica, are you ok?!" Rachel asked, holding her friend tight.

"Yeah," Monica muttered, still confused. "What are you doing here?"

Ross pulled back, "What are **we** doing here?" he asked, surprised by the question. "What are **you** doing here?!"

"We were running from-" Monica dropped the sentence short, glancing over at Joey. He sure didn't seem the type to be involved in illegal activity. He seemed so relieved to see Chandler, as did the blonde that was still embracing him.

"Why didn't you go to the police?" Ross asked, guessing at what she had stopped short of saying.

"We didn't know who had done this," Monica replied. "Chandler thought-" She stopped as she realized… "Chandler, this is my brother, Ross," she introduced them. "Ross, Chandler."

The two men shook hands, the owner of the other boat clearing his throat a second later. "You have this under control now, so, I'm going back to the docks."

There were 'thank you's exchanged, and a brief mention of Joey cleaning up his boat, then the two boats were untied and the 'marina guy' drove away, leaving the six friends and new acquaintances alone.

"Chandler thought…?" Ross urged his sister to continue.

"He thought that if it was, like, the mob chasing us, that going to the police wouldn't necessarily be the safest thing for us to do."

"Why would the mob be chasing you?" Rachel asked, looking back and forth between Monica and Chandler.

"Well, we didn't know **why**," Chandler admitted, "But she works at an Italian restaurant," he said, trying to find a way to explain what they obviously thought were irrational actions.

"So?" Ross asked, failing to see the significance.

"And the guys that kidnapped me were Italian," Monica added.

"Guy," Joey corrected. "It was only one guy."

Chandler and Monica looked over at him, begging an explanation by their expressions.

"Who did this?" Chandler asked Joey. "How did you find us, even?"

"It all started with your phone call…"

*******FLASHBACK*******

"Hello?"

"Joey!" Chandler exclaimed, unaware of how loud he was being. "Shit, man, did you know?!"

"Know what?" Joey asked, confused.

"The package," Chandler clarified. "Did you know what the package was?!"

"No," he calmly replied, "Why?" Suddenly, he gasped, "You didn't open it, did you?"

"Man, this is a **nightmare**! What kind of **people** are you **related** to?!"

"Dude," Joey asked pointedly, "What the hell are you talking about?"

There was a pause before the reply. "You could be in on it," Chandler whispered into the phone.

"In on what?!" Joey asked ardently. "**What** are you **talking** about?! What's going on?"

Click.

"Hello? Hello?" Joey jiggled the phone, thinking the signal had interference. "Chandler? Hello?!" No reply. "Shit."

"Hey, Joey," Phoebe greeted as she walked through the door; immediately she noticed his perplexed expression. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Chandler called."

She dropped her purse on the counter; somehow his simple comment didn't sound so simple. "And?"

"He didn't sound good," he muttered softly. "He sounds really upset."

She scowled, "About what?"

"The package."

"That he was transporting for your Uncle Sal?"

He nodded. "I think he opened it."

"Wasn't that a big no-no?"

He nodded again. "I don't think 'the package' is a good thing."

"Why? What did he say it was?"

He shook his head. "He didn't. He asked me if I knew what it was. He said something about me being 'in on it', then he hung up."

"In on what?"

"I don't know."

"Well, did you try to call him back?"

"Not yet," he said, grabbing the phone a moment later, dialing the cell phone number off the post-it note stuck to the counter. "It's ringing," he told her, then waited for the pick up.

A dozen rings later, and he knew Chandler wasn't going to be picking up.

"He's not answering," he said as he stabbed the off button. "He's avoiding me now."

"And you have no idea what the package is?"

"None," he answered honestly.

"I think it's time we pay your Uncle Sal a visit," Phoebe suggested.

He grabbed his jacket off the hook, "I think you're right."

*****

--"I can't tell you, Joey," Uncle Sal told his nephew. "It's better if you don't know. Deniability," he added.

Joey sighed. "Sal, Chandler knows what the package is."

Sal seemed instantly flustered. "What? How do you know that?"

"He called! He asked if **I** knew about it. He seemed really freaked out!"

Sal started to pace, and Joey and Phoebe shared looks. They could tell by his reaction that their previous thought had been correct; 'the package' was a bad thing.

"Sal, what is Chandler transporting?" Joey insisted on knowing.

"Oh, God," Sal groaned, his face in his hands. "It's a woman."

"What?!" Joey and Phoebe both shouted in unison.

"Monica Geller," he said with a shaky exhale of air.

"Why?!" was all Joey could think of to ask, a million questions unable to form themselves.

"I needed money, cause if I don't pay off this one booky, he's gonna break both my legs! So I decided to go to these different shops and stores and, well, **ask** for money. Protection money. You know, like they do in the movies. But, this one family wouldn't pay, so, I was trying to make an example out of them."

"That's racketeering, and kidnapping!" Phoebe interjected. "**And** illegal!"

When Sal just stared at her in response, Joey turned away, unable to face his uncle.

"Wasn't this little trip supposed to take, like, 2 days?" Phoebe asked. "How was she supposed to pee? Or eat or drink?"

Joey turned around, horror on his face. "Were you trying to kill her?!"

"No!" Sal exclaimed, insistent. "I didn't- I didn't think ahead… I guess."

"You try to extort money from people!" Joey spat angrily, "You kidnap their family when they don't pay you! I'll say you weren't thinking!"

"How old is Monica?" Phoebe asked. "Is she a child?"

"Late 20's," Sal replied.

Joey grabbed Sal's phone and started dialing.

"Who are you calling?" Sal asked, worried.

"Chandler," Joey replied, waiting for the pick up. It was a recorded message. "Says he's either out of range, or the phone is off," Joey informed as he clicked off the cordless phone, placing it back in the base.

"I thought you were calling the police," Sal said once Joey had hung up.

"No," Joey told him, his teeth gritted, "I'm not going to call the police. I'm taking you down to the station."

"What? You can't-"

"Can't what?" Joey snapped. "My friend is out there, freaking out! He thinks **I** knew about this! This Monica woman is probably scared out of her mind! You've done so many illegal things, I can't even count them all on two hands!" He threw his uncle's jacket at him. "We're going to the police, telling them what you did, and getting Chandler and Monica back!" He opened the door, then pointed out it. "Now, let's go!"

***

--"How you doin?" Phoebe asked as she took a seat next to Joey, the cold bench sending a shiver up her spine.

"Ok," he shrugged.

"I know how hard it musta been to turn your uncle in."

"Hey, don't do the crime if you cant do the time, ya'know?" He tried to cover his disappointment in his uncle with the tired cliché, but Phoebe could see right through the façade.

"Yeah, still. I know your family is important to you."

"If I had known, Pheebs," he lamented. "He was being so weird about '**the package**', I should have known. But, I just figured it was another one of his crazy get-rich-quick inventions or something. If I'd known what he was up to, I never would've had Chandler-"

"I know," she offered him comfort, rubbing his arm, "He's like a brother to you."

"Yeah," he sighed. "He is."

"Mr. Tribbiani?" a policeman called as he approached.

Joey stood at the sound of his name, "Yeah?"

"We put out a call on your friends," the officer informed, "And we checked the route they were supposed to be on, but, there's no sign of them."

Joey glanced briefly at Phoebe before turning back to the officer. "Well, now what happens?"

"Officers will continue to keep a look-out, but there isn't much more we can do. Most likely, they'll turn up at a local police station."

"Look, like I told the officer on the phone, she hasn't been missing for 48 hours yet, but you don't know Monica!" a man at the counter raised his voice, drawing everyone's attention. "She doesn't just disappear! We think something is really, really wrong here!"

"Excuse me?" Joey caught the man's attention, jumping back slightly when he startled and turned around abruptly. "What's Monica's last name?"

The man and the woman he was with just stared at him blankly.

Phoebe came up beside Joey. "Is it Geller?" she asked. The reaction was like she had just taken a cattle prod to the couple standing opposite her. "I'm guessing yes," she added.

"We know where she is," Joey stated carefully. "Well, we know who she's with, at any rate."

"Ross Geller," the man extended his hand. "Monica's brother. This is Rachel, her roommate."

They all exchanged handshakes, then walked away from the counter to continue their conversation.

"She's with our friend, Chandler," Joey explained, "And he's a great guy, so she's in good hands."

"Why?" Ross asked, confused. "Where are they? Why didn't she tell us-?"

"She was kidnapped," Joey interrupted the incomplete question.

"What?!"

"My Uncle Sal thought-" He stopped abrupt. "That's a long story, but, my uncle kidnapped her, and Chandler was hired to transport her-"

"But he didn't know that was what he was transporting!" Phoebe added, defending Chandler.

"No, yeah," Joey confirmed Phoebe's statement. "Chandler wouldn't hurt a fly! He's freaked out about the whole thing, believe me!"

"You've spoken to him?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, but, only for a second. I think he thinks I might be in on the whole kidnapping thing, cause it was my uncle and all. You know, cause it's family."

"I think you need to start at the beginning," Ross suggested, gesturing towards a bench where they could sit.

****

TBC…

I hope this chapter is good. Let me know, please. I would appreciate the feedback.

Please leave a review!


	9. 9

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter nine

By: Jana~

*****

--Phoebe nudged Joey softly, extending a styrofoam cup towards him when his eye fluttered open.

"Here's some coffee," she told him, sitting beside him on the uncomfortable bench when he made room.

"I musta dozed off," he muttered, suppressing a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning," she said after a quick glance of her watch. "They say there is still no sign of them."

Joey nodded as he carefully took a sip of the horrible coffee. "Ross and Rachel dozed off too, I see," he whispered with a head nod in their direction.

"Yeah," Phoebe whispered back, grimacing a moment later over the police station coffee. "This coffee is horrible."

Joey shrugged. "It's not so bad. Chandler's is worse," he added with a soft chuckle, but the smile soon left his face. "Do you think he'll forgive me?"

She smiled as she nodded. "In a heartbeat. He loves you, Joey. Besides, you didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault your uncle is an idiot."

He smiled; she always knew just what to say to him. He took another sip of coffee before posing the question, "What made him open the trunk? I mean, was he just curious? Was she banging around and he heard it?"

Phoebe shrugged. "Maybe he needed something out of the back?"

He scowled, "But, like what?"

"Maybe he got a flat tire," Ross offered, having heard part of their conversation as he started to wake.

Joey's eyes widened, "He would need the jack to put on the spare!"

"I can't even imagine what must've been going through his head when he saw her in there," Phoebe added, shaking her head in disbelief over the whole scenario.

"Do you know," Rachel asked, her too starting to awake from a restless sleep. "Did your uncle… hurt her?"

"Well, as little as he told me, I know he wasn't brutal," Joey offered as slight consolation. "He knocked her out with ether and tied her arms and legs with rope or duct tape or something."

"Would explain how he was able to grab her," Ross surmised. "The ether knocked her out, so she wasn't able to kick his ass." His new friends looked at him with odd expressions, and he felt it necessary to clarify his statement. "She's freakishly strong," he informed. "For as petite as she is."

Joey and Phoebe nodded in understanding, a brief moment passing before Rachel exclaimed, "I feel so helpless just sitting here!"

Ross draped his arm around her, comforting her, though he was feeling all the same worries and frustrations. "I can't believe they haven't found them!" he complained. "I mean, shouldn't they have turned up at a police station by now?"

"Maybe something happened to them," Rachel gasped, looking to Ross for reassurances.

"No, no," he coddled her, "I'm sure they're fine." He said it, though he wasn't 100% convinced of it.

"Maybe we should try to find them?" Joey wondered, looking to the others for feedback.

Phoebe agreed immediately. "Beats sitting around here."

"But," Ross countered, "What good would that do? If they're on their way back here, we'll just pass them, and in the dark, we probably wouldn't even see them. And if they've stopped at a police station, we'll get the word faster here."

"Well, yeah, but, see," Joey explained, "If they were still on the route, the police would've found them by now. And if they were going to a police station, they would have gotten to one already. **I** think, they've gone off course."

"Why would they do that?" Ross asked.

"They're running from my uncle Sal," Joey theorized. "And probably me. They probably think they're safer if they get off the route they had been traveling. And by now," he added, "They've most likely pulled over at some motel or something for some sleep. I say, we figure out the mostly likely turn off, and start checking motels."

"That's a very intelligent summation," Phoebe complemented, somewhat surprised. Joey wasn't known for being overly intelligent, but deep down, she knew he was smarter than most gave him credit for.

"We'll need a map," Ross jumped on board instantly with Joey's plan.

"I'll get it," Rachel offered, heading for the police sergeant behind the large desk.

"How well do you know Chandler?" Ross asked both Joey and Phoebe.

"Well," Phoebe replied.

"Here's the map," Rachel announced, handing it to Ross.

He promptly opened it, laying it out on the floor. "How fast does Chandler usually drive?"

"He's not a speed demon," Joey answered. "About 5 or so miles over the limit maybe."

"How fast can he change a tire?"

"If he thinks his life is in danger," Joey guessed, "Pretty fast."

"What time was it when he called you?"

"Just after dusk."

"When he called you, did it sound like the car was moving?"

Joey scowled as he tried to remember. "No, I don't think so."

"Ok, so, he probably called right after he found Monica in the trunk, before he changed the tire," Ross assumed. "When did he leave this morning?"

"Umm," Joey tried to recall. "Eight or nine in the morning, I think."

Ross followed the route with his finger, "At 60 miles per hour, starting at about eight this morning, assuming he stopped for gas and maybe even something to eat…" he trailed off as he continued computing the miles. "And he called you at about 6:30… That puts him… here," he pointed at the map, "And the next turn off from there is…"

He trailed off again as he checked the map. "Here," he exclaimed proudly, jabbing at the map with his index finger.

"Ok, but, which way?" Rachel wondered aloud. "East or west?"

"Well, going with the theory that they're running **away** from Joey and his uncle, I'm gonna say west."

"They have a good ten/twelve hour or more head start on us you know," Phoebe voiced reason. "Even if they sleep for several more hours, I doubt we're gonna be able to catch up to them."

"She's right," Joey agreed.

"Well, maybe we should just tell the police about our plan," Rachel interjected. "Maybe they could get some officers near the junction to check for us."

Ross wasn't convinced of their competence, but reluctantly agreed with the others to let the police try and find them first.

The police officer seemed disbelieving of the possibility, but took their theory seriously and put a call out for any officers in the area to look out for the car, or the couple, on the highway, or at any motels along the highway.

All there was left to do was wait.

***

--Sleep at a big city police station was impossible, to say the least. Between the drunks being brought in and the hookers, the disenchanted youths getting back at their society by vandalizing and stealing, and the odd scary-looking hardened criminals, not to mention their worry over their missing friends… Joey, Phoebe, Ross, and Rachel found little to no sleep.

Finally, after hours of waiting with still no word, they decided to go to a nearby coffee shop and get breakfast. Hopefully, by the time they got back, the police would have good news for them.

***

--"We have good news and bad news," the officer informed as the 4 friends stood at the large desk, the policeman's expression hard to read.

Rachel grabbed Ross' hand, preparing for the worst.

"We found the motel your friends stayed at last night," he told them, and all 4 of them reacted with gasps and looks of relief. "That's the good news. The bad news is, they left before we got there. The manager seemed to think they were headed east, so we have officers on the lookout for their car…"

"Are they ok?" Rachel asked, worried.

"Yeah, the manager said they just seemed like a married couple or something. They didn't seem to be under any duress, they just looked tired. To him."

"They went east?" Ross asked, wrinkles in his forehead a clear sign he was confused.

"Yeah, why?" the officer asked.

Ross shook his head, "I thought they would've been headed west."

"Maybe they're heading back home?" Phoebe suggested, and Rachel perked at the idea.

"Oh, I hope so!"

"That doesn't make sense," Ross complained. "Why run all this time, just to turn around?"

"Maybe they just decided to stop running," Rachel answered simply, lightly smacking Ross for trying to sully the positive scenario.

He scowled, shaking his head just barely. "Yeah, maybe." It was obvious he didn't believe that to be possible.

"Maybe someone should go to Monica's, and someone to Chandler's, to see if they show up," Phoebe proposed, excited.

"Even if they **did** decide to come back home," Ross reasoned, "It'll take them hours. I think we should stay here and see if the police find them."

They all agreed, and took their seats back on the uncomfortable benches to wait.

***

--"Well, there's still no word," Phoebe updated the group after checking in with the police sergeant on duty. "He said that their officers are already spread thin, and if more important calls come in, they have to take them. So, the hunt for Chandler and Monica gets put on the back burner."

"We've been here forever," Rachel whined. "I'm so tired, my eyes have forgotten how to blink."

"Just work them manually then," Phoebe suggested, receiving odd looks in response. "What?" she asked, then proceeded to demonstrate how to 'blink manually'. She placed her index fingers, one on each eyelid, then gently moved them up and down. "Like this."

When the police officer approached with a look of confusion over the strange behavior, it caused Phoebe to stop her demonstration.

"We found the car," the officer told them, a response of happy gasps following the news. "They weren't in it though."

That last comment stopped the brief celebration.

"They apparently abandoned the vehicle, in a parking lot on Seaside Drive."

"Seaside Drive?" Ross scoffed. "What's on Seaside Drive?"

Suddenly, Joey gasped, his eyes growing wide. "The Mr. Beaumont."

Rachel scowled. "What?"

"Who's Mr. Beaumont?" Ross asked.

"It's not a who," Joey explained, "It's a what. It's a boat. My boat. Seaside Drive is only a mile or so from the docks!"

"So," Ross started to piece it together, "They're heading out to sea?"

"Not if **I** can help it!" Joey exclaimed, then started in a sprint towards the exit. "Let's go get our friends back!"

***

--They ran onto the docks, finding the empty slip where the Mr. Beaumont was supposed to be.

"We're too late!" Rachel stated the obvious. "How are we supposed to find them now?"

Joey snapped his fingers, "It has one of those beacon thingies! You know, if you get lost at sea or something, then rescuers can find you!"

"Great," Ross muttered sarcastically, "Now we just need to get the Coast Guard out here with their radar to pick it up."

"There's gotta be a way!" Joey fussed. They'd come too far to quit.

"You guys need help with something?" a man asked as he approached.

Joey shook his head, "A friend of mine took off with my boat, and we're trying to figure out how to catch up with him."

The man squinted, narrowing his eyes on Joey. "Which boat?"

"The Mr. Beaumont," Joey replied.

"And you are?" the man asked.

"Joey Tribbiani."

"He said **he** was Joey Tribbiani," the man mumbled, a comment not for the benefit of the others so much as for himself.

"You spoke to him?" Ross demanded to know. "What about the woman?"

The man shook his head, confused by the desperation in Ross' tone. "He did all of the talking. She seemed scared, and hid behind him most of the time, till she climbed on the boat."

"Did they happen to say where they were headed?" Phoebe asked.

"No," he shook his head again, "But I can tell you, they veered left when they pulled out of the marina."

"I don't suppose we could borrow your boat," Rachel asked with a flirty smile. "It's pretty much a life and death kind of thing."

He smiled at her, making Ross instantly jealous. "Yeah, sure, I guess that would be ok. If I go with."

"Fine by us," Ross exclaimed as he stood between the man and Rachel. "You can captain the boat."

***

--"Yours is a gentleman day sailor, right?" the man asked Joey, to which he nodded in response. "Then my boat can catch it," he informed, answering a previous question. "You guys just keep your eyes peeled for any sign of it."

--It was more than a half-hour later when Joey whooped, the noise catching everyone's attention.

"I think I see it!" he announced to the group, and they all turned to the direction he pointed in. 

After a minute or two, as the boat got closer, and with the aide of binoculars, Joey became certain it was his boat, and he could just make out Chandler on deck.

Joey moved the binoculars away from his eyes, looking around the boat he was on. "Is there, like, a bullhorn or something on board?"

The man nodded, then moved quickly to retrieve them.

Taking it from the man, Joey quickly looked through the binoculars again before using it.

"Chandler!" Joey could see the man he thought to be Chandler react. "It **is** Chandler!" he announced excitedly. "He jumped up and is all looking around!"

"Call to him again!" Phoebe demanded happily, grabbing the binoculars away from him.

"Chandler!"

"He doesn't know where it's coming from," Phoebe deduced by watching her friend's actions. "He's looking around… He's trying to figure it out…"

"What about Monica?" Rachel asked.

"She's looking around too," Phoebe informed, then within seconds, she squeaked, "He sees us! He sees us! He's pointing right at us!"

Joey instinctively waved.

"Tell him to drop the sails," the boat owner instructed. "We'll catch up faster."

"Dude! Drop the sails, man!"

The smile dropped from Phoebe's face. "Monica is freaking out. She's grabbing onto Chandler and, freaking out."

"Give me the bullhorn," Ross demanded, and Joey handed it over.

"Monica!" Ross yelled.

"She stopped freaking," Phoebe informed.

"Monica, it's Ross! Drop the sails!"

"They're talking about it," Phoebe updated.

"What is there to talk about?" Rachel asked. "Why is she so freaked out?"

"He's dropping the sails," Phoebe apprised.

"She probably thinks Joey is the one that kidnapped her or something," Ross surmised. "Would **you** want to come face to face with the man that grabbed you off the street, tied you up, and shoved you in a trunk?"

"But Joey didn't do that!" Rachel shot back.

"**We** know that," Ross reasoned. "**She** doesn't necessarily know that."

"He stopped dropping the sails."

"What?!" Joey asked. "Why?"

"He's hugging her," Phoebe replied, continuing to watch through the binoculars. "Ok, he's dropping them again…"

****

TBC…

I don't think this series is as well liked as others I've done. I had such high hopes for it, but after the hard drive crash, and then with my cat getting sick, I think this story was kind of affected. I apologize for that. We are probably looking at one more chapter, and it'll be done. Never fear, I have an idea for another story!

As always, Please leave a review!


	10. 10

**__**

The One With The Transporter

Chapter ten

By: Jana~

***

--She laid her head against his chest, the taxi lulling her to sleep as the day's events caught up with her.

Ross was against Monica taking a cab with Chandler, going to his apartment instead of to her own, but Monica insisted. 

*~*

--"You barely know him, Mon! You're not thinking! If you go over there tonight… no good will come of it! I thought you were saving yourself until marriage!"

"Just because I go over there, doesn't mean we're going to sleep together, Ross!" she countered with a huff. "He happens to be a perfect gentleman, I'll have you know!"

He shook his head, "You don't know men like I do, ok?! You'll be on 'his turf'! He'll be all smooth and convince you, and you'll regret it in the morning, but by then it'll be too late!"

"You're such a drama queen," she snipped back, causing him to scowl in response. "I don't expect you to understand this, Ross, but I need to be with Chandler tonight. I need to know where we stand."

"Where you stand?! You've only known him 2 days!"

"Two days, two weeks, who decides the length of time before you can start falling?"

"Monica," Ross sighed, "I don't think this is a good idea. You're vulnerable. You've just been through this horrific experience--"

"And because of that I don't have enough common sense to say 'no'? Believe me, Ross, **if** I don't want to have sex, I can still say 'no'. Being kidnapped hasn't changed my ability to speak my mind."

"**If**?" he asked, focusing solely on that one word.

"Yeah," she confirmed, staring back pointedly. "**If**. **If** I don't want to have sex, I'll say 'no', but **if** I **do**--"

"Monica," he interrupted, "You've waited too long to give your flower to a man you barely know."

"How old am I Ross?" It was a rhetorical question, and she continued without waiting for his response. "Old enough to make my own decisions at least, right?"

"I suppose, but--"

"No 'buts', Ross. I'm going over to Chandler's tonight, and you'll just have to learn to accept that."

*~*

--She didn't expect her brother to understand, but Chandler had been her sole source of comfort for the better part of the past 2 days, and she felt the inexplicable need to be with him.

Besides, she wasn't up to answering Ross or Rachel's inevitable questions right away. She just wanted to curl up in Chandler's arms and sleep for a century.

--"Monica," Chandler whispered, kissing the top of her head. "We're here."

She sat up and blinked rapidly a few times to clear her vision and foggy mind. "K," she answered, sliding over and pushing out the door while Chandler paid the cabby.

Putting his arm around her he pulled her close as he led her into his apartment building, apologizing for the amount of stairs they needed to climb in order to get to his floor.

His apartment was decorated in typical bachelor fashion. The livingroom furniture simply consisting of a well-worn sofa and recliner, an end table with a lamp atop it, an entertainment center with a TV and stereo, and a few barstools at the counter that faced the kitchen.

"You have a nice apartment," she complemented cordially, hugging herself as she looked around. "You live alone?"

"Depends on whether or not Joey needs a place to crash," he chuckled. "I pay the rent alone, so, technically, yeah." He paused a moment before offering, "Would you like the not-so-grand tour?"

She smiled, "Sure."

The apartment was small, and since the bathroom was most likely less than spectacular, and probably not on the tour, that left his bedroom. The significance of that wasn't lost on her.

His smile was so sweet, it set her heart instantly aflutter. He was thinking the same thing, she was sure of it.

"There's the kitchen, the livingroom, the bathroom…" He gestured to each room as he announced them. "And this…" he crossed the room, "Is my bedroom."

She followed him to the door, peeking in as he opened it. "It's, nice," she said softly, unsure if she should walk in, or wait for an invitation to do so.

"You can, go in…" he suggested hesitantly. "If you want to."

She took one timid step inside, followed closely by Chandler, who placed his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her that all was fine.

He sat on the bed, then patted the mattress, asking her to join him. He could tell by her slow hesitant movements that she was reluctant to be there.

"It's been a long, crazy few days, huh?"

She nodded, "Yeah it has."

"Want to, talk about it?"

She shrugged.

"Can I ask, why did you want to come with me, to my apartment?"

Her brow furrowed. "Do you not want me here?"

He smirked, "You know I do. Why did **you** want to come?"

"I wanted to be with you tonight."

"Just tonight?"

"No," she returned, "Not just tonight."

"I know you've been through hell, and even though I've been through shit too, what you've been through is worse. I don't want you to rush into anything you're, uncomfortable with."

"I'm not uncomfortable being with you," she told him. "I just-- I don't know exactly where we go from here. I mean, there was a definite connection between us, but, was that just cause of the situation?"

"What do you mean?"

"I was the damsel in distress, you were the knight in shining armor… is what we feel for each other based on **that**, or something more?"

"Well," he offered, "I guess the only way to answer that is to spend time with each other now that the chaos is over, and see what happens."

"Which is why I wanted to be here with you tonight. One of the reasons," she added.

"One of them," he repeated. "What were some of the other reasons?"

She didn't answer in words. Instead, she placed her hand on his thigh, timidly, then leaned in, her lips touching his softly. He raked his fingers through her hair, the kiss intensifying… until she pulled away.

"We can't have sex," she informed him abruptly, avoiding his eyes, a spot on the floor her focal point.

"Ever?"

She found his little quips helped put her at ease, and she replied with a hint of a smile, "No. I just meant for right now. I just-- I just think--" She sighed as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say, the words refusing to form easily.

"We don't really know each other all that well," she said finally. "And I think we should before we take that step. Don't you?"

"Yeah."

Smiling, she placed her hand on his face, sensing his disappointment. "I like you, Chandler, and not just because you were my knight in shining armor, but because I see in you a man I would like to get to know better."

He nodded. "I want to get to know you, too."

"So," she suggested, "Maybe I should go."

"You don't have to," he told her. "I think I've proven, I **can** be a perfect gentleman."

She laughed. "Emphasis on **can**, huh?"

He laughed in return. "Yeah, well, I'll admit, if you hadn't just put the brakes on, I'd probably be moving towards somewhat ungentlemanly behavior right now."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head, taking her hand in his. "No need to apologize. None at all."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them for several moments before he spoke up again, asking, "How do you want to work this? I have a semi-comfortable couch…"

"Actually," she interrupted, "I was hoping we could, share, **your** bed." Her slight stammer caused him to smile.

"We can absolutely do that," he replied, standing. "Would you like some sweats or something to change in to?"

"Sure," she nodded, joining him.

He rummaged through his closet until he found her something she could wear. "I think these will fit you ok," he said as he offered them to her. "Probably a little big, but comfy for sleeping in I'd bet."

"These will be fine, thanks."

He held up a pair of his own. "I usually sleep in the nude, but I won't… _this time_," he added with a smirk. He pointed at the bedroom door, adding, "I'll just change out in the livingroom."

She watched him leave, waiting for the sound of the door clicking closed before starting to undress.

*~*

--"Are you decent?" he asked through the door several minutes later, wanting to be sure before entering.

"Yeah," she called back, the door opening with a creak as he peeked in.

He entered the room with a smile, gesturing between the two of them. "We match," he said, referring to their sweats.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, but jumped up when he approached.

"Just pulling the blanket and sheet down," he explained, pointing at the bed before grabbing the edge of the comforter. "You seem a little nervous," he noticed, "Is something wrong? Have you changed your mind about this?" he asked as he jabbed the mattress with his finger.

"No," she said softly in reply, "Just thinking about something my brother said."

"Yeah?" he asked as encouragement for her to continue. He climbed into bed, waiting for her to do the same as she silently stood bedside. He rubbed the striped pattern on the sheet invitingly, and after a moment's pause, she joined him, pulling the blankets up to her neck protectively.

"What did Ross say?" he asked again, more directly, turning on his side to face her.

"He thinks it's a bad idea that I'm here with you tonight," she informed him. "He thinks men just want one thing, and because I'm here, we'll end up sleeping together."

"Well, aren't we?" he asked, and her eyes grew wide as saucers. "No," he chuckled at her expression, "Put your eyes back in your head. I just meant," he went on to explain, "We **are** going to be **sleeping** together, but that's all. If you don't want to have sex, then, we won't have sex. I'm not gonna force myself on you!" He partially sat up, his expression turning serious, "Is that what he thinks?!"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Maybe," she added. "I'm not sure **what** he thinks. He's just over-protective," she explained her brother's actions. "I'm his little sister, and I had this plan that I was going to save myself for marriage--"

"Wait," he interrupted. "What? What are--? What?" he asked, flustered. "Are you saying… that you're, a…"

"Virgin?" she completed his choppy, incomplete question. "Yes. That's what I'm saying."

"Whoa." That was all he could think of to say.

"Is that a problem?" she asked, a bit worried by his reaction.

"No!" he assured her, "I just-- I had no idea."

"Well," she said with sarcasm, "It's not like we wear a sign or something."

He laughed, "No, that's true. I guess I'm just, surprised. I mean, have you **seen** you?"

Her smile grew wider, taking his statement as a complement. "I don't know," she explained, "I guess I just had this whole romantic thought of how it would all go, ya'know? I would meet a guy, fall in love, get married. Then, on our wedding night, it would be, just, **fantastic**, and romantic, because I saved myself for my husband."

"That's a very romantic vision," he said with a smile. "Very sweet."

"So," she broached cautiously, "You would be willing to date a girl you may **never** get to sleep with?"

"Do you want my 'sensitive guy' answer? Or my honest answer?"

Her heart sunk. "Honest," she whispered.

He sighed. "Honestly, that would be very hard for me. To have this incredible woman I couldn't touch, and caress, and make love to. I wouldn't force myself on her. I would **never** force myself on **anyone**. But, I think-- I would probably ask a lot. And whine a lot," he added with a grin.

"But you wouldn't dump her?"

"No," he answered confidently, "I wouldn't dump her."

It wasn't the answer she thought it would be, and a relieved smile crossed her face as she asked, "So, this doesn't change anything?"

"No, not as far as how I feel about you is concerned," he assured her.

"So, did you mean what you said, when we were at that motel?"

"What did I say?"

"That some day, you might want to do the whole, marriage and kids thing."

"Yeah," he said, his hand tentatively touching hers. "I meant what I said. Can I ask," he continued, "If you were to get engaged, would you be willing to sleep with your fiancé? Or do you have to have the ceremony first?"

"I don't honestly know," she replied. "Are you proposing?"

He smiled, "If I said yes, would you sleep with me?"

"I am **sleeping** with you," she quipped. "Remember?"

His elbow dug into the mattress, his head resting against his palm as he drew invisible patterns on her hand and arm. "I remember."

"Is that ok?"

He smiled, "Yeah, Monica, it's ok. I'll be a perfect gentleman, you have my word."

She paused before saying, "Well, you don't have to be a **perfect** gentleman."

His grin grew wider. "Just how much of a gentleman would you like me to be? You know, on a scale from one to ten."

"Ten being the most gentlemanly?" she established. "Maybe, a six or seven?"

Her sheepish smile caused him to chuckle, but his expression soon changed. Slowly, he leaned in, and when his lips touched hers, she was the one who pulled him closer to her, rubbing against him as the kiss grew hungrier.

"Just so I know," he asked, breathless, his lips brushing against her neck and ear, "Where is a seven in your book?"

Her hand eagerly traveled up under his sweatshirt, caressing his back, and he urgently reciprocated.

Both shirts were whipped off in seconds, and they stared at one another for a revered moment before she finally whispered, "We'll wing it."

*****~*****

****

~ONE YEAR LATER~

--"I can't believe you guys are getting married tomorrow," Phoebe exclaimed to her friends, plopping down on the chair to the right of the ratty, old orange sofa they were sitting on, at the coffeehouse that had become like a second home to them all.

"I can't believe you guys haven't… _you know_," Joey added, still amazed after hearing that tidbit of information.

"I knew I shouldn't have told you that," Chandler said, rolling his eyes.

Rachel shook her head, "Why did you?"

He sighed, "Too much to drink at my bachelor party, and it just sorta, came out," he explained.

"I don't think I coulda lasted a year," Joey announced.

"You couldn't have lasted a week," Chandler shot back.

"I think it's romantic," Phoebe said with a smile.

"I do too," Rachel backed her up.

"So do I," Chandler added, smiling at Monica as he gave her hand a squeeze.

"Eh," Joey dismissed them, "That's just cause you're girls."

Chandler cleared his throat, "Dude?" He gestured to himself, reminding his sometimes-dense friend that he wasn't female.

Joey smirked, "Then why do you cry like one?"

Chandler reciprocated with a joking glare.

"I can't believe that tomorrow I'm going to be Mrs. Monica Geller-Bing," she changed the subject.

Chandler cocked an eyebrow, "You're gonna hyphenate?"

"Yeah," she replied, "I told you that."

"You did?" he asked. "When?"

"Uh-oh," Joey interrupted, "Fighting already."

Monica dismissed the comment. "Your folks **are** coming tonight," she asked Chandler, "Right?"

"Yeah," Chandler answered, rolling his eyes. "Lucky us."

"The smut queen and the drag queen," Joey chuckled, "This is going to be fun!"

"Yeah, if by fun you mean unbearably embarrassing," Chandler complained. 

"You know what's neat?" Phoebe changed the subject, everyone's attention turning to her. "The story you will have to tell your children, and grandchildren, about how you met."

Everyone agreed.

"Well, kids, it's like this," Ross pretended to be addressing Chandler and Monica's future children. "It all started when your daddy's best friend's uncle kidnapped your mommy…"

****

THE END

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